


26 - See and Observe

by distantstarlight



Series: 31_Days_of_Porn_Challenge_2017 [26]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 31 Days of Porn Challenge 2017, Angst, Cruising, Day 26, Lonely Sherlock, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, POV Sherlock Holmes, Sad Sherlock, Voyeurism, momentary John and Mary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-11-05 10:29:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11011605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distantstarlight/pseuds/distantstarlight
Summary: Sherlock is lonely. He develops a bit of a sneaky habit but it's all John's fault.





	26 - See and Observe

**Author's Note:**

> Day 26 of the 31 Days of Porn Challenge as issued by AtlinMerrick!

He hadn’t meant to the first time. Sherlock supposed that John didn’t realise how thin the walls at 221 B Baker Street were. Sherlock had been examining fabric swatches after becoming involved in a smuggling case where rare seeds were woven into fashionable items to cross borders unnoticed when he heard the regular thumping noise begin coming from John’s room. Sherlock stood straight, looked around to verify that he was indeed in his own kitchen, then followed the noise up the stairs to stand outside John’s room. The noise was quite loud now, the pace and rhythm of it changing. Sherlock raised his hand to knock, thinking to ask John what he was about when Sherlock distinctly heard a woman moan out John’s name and then Sherlock heard his new flatmate make a deep strange sound that communicated an impression of dominant satisfaction.

Sherlock had had erections in his past. He was human, after all, and hadn’t always been in such excellent control of his transport. They weren’t frequent, desired, or missed, so he was a bit unsure how to deal with the one that had suddenly begun to develop the moment he heard John. He definitely had not responded to the other person. Female. No surprise there. John was adamant about his heterosexuality but Sherlock could see the signs of long-term repression and had determined that John Watson was actually bisexual but reluctant to admit it, especially to himself. Sherlock suspected that John’s sister, openly homosexual, had made things exponentially more difficult for her younger brother while they were in their teens by attacking his supposed sexuality to boost her own self-esteem when she was feeling low.

John was also a vigorous and apparently successful lover, if judging by the volume and quantity of times his date cried out his name was a good way to measure the data. Sherlock pressed his ear to the door, cataloguing the pace and rhythm of their copulation until John endangered the wall during his grand finale, making his date shriek shrilly as he brought her to yet another orgasm and finished himself as well.

Sherlock went downstairs and resumed cataloguing his swatches. An hour or so later, the giggling pair stumbled downstairs, stopping awkwardly at the kitchen entrance, “Sherlock! Oh. I thought you were out.” John seemed embarrassed now and the one-off he’d brought back to the flat was already making her escape without so much as an insincere _see you later_. “Just got in?” he asked hopefully.

Sherlock shook his head, carefully separating his samples into categories, “I haven’t left the flat since this morning.” He wasn’t focussed on his samples, having already categorised them. He was just doing something that appeared vaguely deliberate while he collected his thoughts, “Why?”

John clearly didn’t want to ask if Sherlock had heard him having sex and Sherlock had no intention of revealing that he had. If he did, he might not get a chance to listen again, and it had been very interesting. His transport had reacted in a primitive way to John’s ecstatic noises. No one had ever managed to provoke his transport that way, not even when he’d been in the dormitories at school and had been many a night forced to listen to other boys masturbating. It had been more annoying than erotic, their panting moans grating on his nerves and keeping him awake at night.

The next weekend it happened again. John clearly had consumed several drinks during his date so both he and the woman he was with were tipsy as well as amorous. They stumbled upstairs without noticing Sherlock sitting in the living room reading one of John’s medical texts and making notations regarding areas that needed updating or correcting. He waited five minutes before ghosting after them, “Yeah, lovely, spread your legs darling, let me…oh yeah.” _John was ordering his date around and she didn_ _’_ _t seem to mind_. Sherlock only had her eager moans to judge by and they went on for a very long time before she made a sobbing choking sound. Only a minute later, the anticipated bed thumping began and then, John _moaned_. Sherlock noted that his ability to become fully erect was admirably fast considering his years, the lack of use of the currently excited organ, and the fact that he wasn’t even in on the action that was arousing him. He pressed his ear to the door yet again, closing his eyes, and listened.

It was clear that John preferred the missionary position. It wasn’t surprising considering his dominant nature, John had been a military leader and he was a doctor. _He liked taking charge and taking care_. Sherlock’s mind produced the perfect catalogue of John’s attributes, supplying his inner self with an excellent approximation of John’s naked form. Sherlock’s erection became quite demanding so after indulging himself for a few minutes more, he went to his bedroom to take care of it.

Sherlock looked at it and made note of how red he’d become, how thick he seemed to be, and how his bollocks seemed heavier than usual. He reached out and touched himself, exhaling softly as his flesh recognised that he was going to take care of things. Sherlock could still hear John upstairs. _He really was energetic._ For a minute, Sherlock regretted not taking a photo of John’s headboard and the wall it was striking. Certainly, over time, the wear patterns would be very telling. With these thoughts in mind, Sherlock masturbated himself to orgasm, his ears filled with the thumping sounds that were increasing in pace until he finally climaxed just as John cried out.

It was very satisfying. Well pleased, Sherlock cleaned himself up and went back to the kitchen where he resumed his latest experiments with molds. John clearly enjoyed a good deal of after play because he got his lover off one more time before Sherlock took in the sounds of them getting dressed enough for John to escort his date to the door. Much like the first time, John was clearly startled that Sherlock was present, though this time, he didn’t ask if Sherlock had just gotten in. With a mumbled goodnight, the still inebriated doctor took himself to bed.

As time went by, Sherlock accustomed himself to listening to John’s more successful dates. The doctor was in the habit of bringing his paramours to his room where a clean bed and condoms could be found. Sherlock noted that his flatmate was diligent about preventative measures, going in to get tested on a very regular basis, and always making certain that his fun time didn’t become sad time for anyone. He seemed to be very successful at ending his short-term relationships in a positive way because John was never harassed by angry exes. Sherlock thought about that.

John became his best friend and no one was more surprised than Sherlock. He had never expected to meet someone who found him acceptable enough to befriend, and definitely had never expected to make the position of best _anything_ when it came to personal matters. _He was all about science, not feelings_.

Sherlock discovered that he had been lying to himself after James Moriarty used John to entice him to a pool where things went very wrong, and the only thing that was left to comfort them both afterwards was the fact that it could have easily been worse. _He wasn_ _’_ _t all about the science. He had feelings now, feelings for John Watson! How had that happened?_

It was terrible now that he noticed. When John brought dates home, Sherlock was left in a state of anxious arousal, locking himself into his bedroom, plugging his ears, and trying not to hear. He had left the flat several times but the arousal did not fade. He needed to masturbate and it only ever really worked _if_ he could hear John orgasm. It was maddening as well as very frustrating. He couldn’t just find an alley and wank! Sherlock was stuck at 221 B Baker Street in _forever alone_ mode and he absolutely loathed the fact that he understood that reference _. Damn John!_

Things got tense. The situation with James Moriarty was far more complicated than Sherlock had originally anticipated. He spent every minute trying to find a way through but nothing worked without a tremendous sacrifice by someone. Sherlock put all his efforts into minimizing the collateral damage because he knew there would be a point when he would need to make a choice.

He died and it had been absolutely miserable. Undercover, Sherlock traveled constantly, making his way from city to city, country to country, disabling the late consulting criminal’s empire as it tried to resurrect itself now that he was officially dead. He still observed people in all states of their life whenever he came across it but it wasn’t the same anymore. No erotic display seemed able to stir him even though his body wanted. During those times, Sherlock indulged in a lot of self-comfort. He discovered that replaying John’s noises in his head as he took his hard cock in his hand and stroked worked for him. He mentally edited out the feminine cries of bliss and replaced them with his own sounds. Now when he came, Sherlock imagined that John was coming with him, that John was there with him.

After weeks turned into months, and months into years, John’s fantasy presence was more established and Sherlock found himself speaking to his friend, very aware that he was going mad. He didn’t care. He needed to keep going and if going a bit crazy helped him survive, so be it. He had a lover now, one who knew what he wanted and how he wanted it. It was good, it made things bearable.

He got caught in the end. His enemies cornered him and that was it. Sherlock was sure he was going to die but it was alright because he’d caught the last player in the London Game. John was safe and that was all that mattered. His current captors were only indirectly involved, suffering financial blowback from his earlier activities but otherwise having nothing more to do with the very dead James Moriarty. Mycroft rescued him eventually but his brother hadn’t come fast enough. Sherlock had almost broken under the constant pressure and had arrived in London hollowed out and without resources.

He didn’t know how to deal with Mary. Sherlock had distantly thought that he and John would resume their friendship where he’d left off two years ago. Sherlock had entertained ideas of telling John about how Sherlock rather fancied him, and wondered if he could coax John’s bisexuality out into the open. Instead, he was John’s best man at a wedding he didn’t want to be at. The attempted murder made it tolerable but then, the reception happened. Sherlock walked away because his chest felt strange. He needed air and distance from the bond he wasn’t a part of.

Mary shot him. It wasn’t too difficult to fall back into drug use after that. John did his best to be there but he really only came over to ensure that Sherlock had taken his meds and hadn’t over-exerted himself. John was still working and since he had no idea that his wife had done the deed, he lived with her in a different part of the city. There was no one watching Sherlock anymore. Even Mycroft was too busy with his job as _Head Interferer of Everything Everywhere_ and didn’t have time to monitor his volatile and unstable brother. No one realized that Sherlock was easing himself back into addiction, taking the odd hit here and there just to smooth out the rough patches. It wasn’t until John found him passed out in a drug den next to his neighbor’s teen son that anyone at all realized what had happened. Everything went pear-shaped in a hurry.

Molly slapped him. He stood there dumbly and took it, not understanding. _Why did she care if he did drugs? It wasn_ _’_ _t as if he were part of her life any more._ He didn’t come to the morgue ever, and Molly had firmly sided with John because of Rosie. _He had no place in their lives anymore. Everyone had moved on since he had died and there was no place for him. He was more alone now than he_ _’_ _d been when he had been undercover. Did they not see that?_ Sherlock looked at all the people he used to rely on, the people whom he had been most comfortable with, and realized that he was friendless once again.

Drugs were easy to obtain, especially since his homeless network was as widespread and fluid as ever. A single glance and knowing look in the right direction at the right time had the right sort of person popping by 221 B Baker Street with a baggie of happiness. He resumed watching people, going from flop house to flop house, back alleys, abandoned parking lots, and old buildings. There were many places to go if you knew where to look, and though it had been years, Sherlock still knew London well.

Watching the rough and ready sex on the street didn’t titillate him much unless it was two men together. Sherlock nodded to himself. Heterosexual acts didn’t seem to impact his libido much, but put a man on his knees in front of another, and Sherlock could almost imagine himself with John. There were a few cruising locations where he was able to watch a man penetrate another, the receiver using a car-seat as a bed as his anonymous lover grunted and sweated, pumping hard and fast until he came. Condoms were often just dropped somewhere on the ground nearby. Sherlock never participated and was careful of where he stepped. Once or twice he considered trying to masturbate but then decided against it. Too many of the men who haunted those locations would take it as an invitation to suck him off or perhaps even fuck him. Sherlock didn’t want that. Not from them.

He went to certain clubs and hung around certain bathrooms, observing the magic of glory holes and oral sex. Sometimes, the lustful participants even managed anal but he couldn’t see how it could be pleasurable. Despite that doubt, he still wanted to try it someday, but knew he’d never. It was clear that he could only be with John but that was impossible. John was married.

Rosie was born and a lot of things happened and then, Mary was gone. John was so angry with Sherlock. Recovering from the beating he’d handed out took a long time, even with John’s mortified and endlessly apologetic care. Sherlock had snapped eventually, exhausted by the strain between them. “You loved Mary in a way you will never love me, I understand John, I understand completely. I still don’t see how I am responsible for her death since I had nothing to do with her old and at the same time current career, I didn’t tell her to move in front of me, I didn’t ask her to ruin my life by saving it. I wasn’t in charge of her missions, that was Mycroft’s area, yet you punished me for it. She martyred herself because she’d lost and you know it. She had no one to go back to after her teammates were gone except for you and you only took her back because of Rosie. Mary knew her old enemies would retaliate soon and she wasn’t interested in long term torture so she did what she did, then you did what you did, and now what? I don’t know what to do John, I really don’t. If I’m such a terrible friend and loathsome person, why do you remain here? Why did you move yourself back to Baker Street and torment me with what I can never have?”

John looked devastated, his face a picture of shock. Clearly he hadn’t considered anything from Sherlock’s perspective and realising that made Sherlock go off again, “I am clearly undeserving of any sort of respect or admiration despite my skills and sacrifices, so I say good day to you, John Watson. Please leave my room so I can rest in peace, if you please. I know I’m a bitter lonely old man and I thank you to leave me to it. Raise your child and leave me alone. I cannot take your endless self-flagellation, it feels hollow and false. I tried to be your friend, John, but I cannot exist like this any longer.”

Sherlock knew he had gone way too far when John staggered backward away from him, his face pale and his hand shaking. “Sherlock…”

John clearly wanted to apologise yet again and it infuriated him. “Just go, John. You have other friends, go to them. I have spent years watching your endless parade of temporary lovers stream through here, is that why you came back? To take up your old hobbies again? Tell me John, what is it about fucking a woman so close to me that does it for you, hmm? Is it making me listen to her come? Is it keeping me awake or distracted because of your bloody headboard? Is that what I can look forward to again, watching you fuck one stranger after another only meters away from me and just letting me suffer? No. Thank. You.” Sherlock was nearly spitting with rage now. He didn’t know where it had all come from but it was out of control now. He had to get away or things would get violent.

Sherlock stormed out of the flat and walked swiftly away. He didn’t look back. Instead he wound his way down streets until he came to an empty office building he’d marked to visit at a later date. Now was as good a time as any. Tonight, he was going to join in with whomever he came across. Walking slowly, Sherlock observed small huddled groups of people using temporarily empty office space as bordellos, eager bodies being used by even more eager strangers. He wondered what he wanted, to suck someone or to be sucked. He might even put his arse out there, take a few rides. Why not? “Sherlock.”

Shocked, Sherlock turned to look behind him. John was there and he was still wearing his house-shoes though he’d gotten a coat on. “I left Rosie with Mrs Hudson. Almost lost sight of you when you came in here but…” John was looking around, his eyes wide, “Sherlock, where are we?”

“It’s called cruising, John. Everyone here wants to fuck and they don’t want to pay. Go on, watch. I’m going to find a cock to ride.” Sherlock walked away feeling defiant and a little self-destructive. How could he take a man when he’d never so much as let someone touch his penis? It didn’t matter. In fact, he hoped it was agonising. Clearly he deserved to be punished.

“No!” John sounded horrified. “Sherlock, no. This is crazy. This is dangerous. Why would you want to?”

“Want to what, John? Be touched? Have someone handle me in a way that feels good instead of in a way that leaves scars? Yes, I want that. I’m not the machine everyone likes to think I am. Leave me, John. There are women on the second floor, go have one of them. Your prized heterosexual street credentials don’t work on this floor.”

“No!” John sounded angry now, “No, I don’t want some stranger!”

“Neither do I, John, but I’m rather stuck for choice. So, who do you think wants to take my arse, John? Him? He looks endowed.” Sherlock pointed to a large elderly man with a rounded belly but also a stiff and hefty looking cock. Sherlock began to walk over to him but John grabbed his elbow, “Let me go, Watson, I’m getting fucked by someone, tonight.”

“Not by one of them!” John hissed. Sherlock found himself thrown up against a filthy wall. John was right in his face, “You like to watch? You want to be watched? You want some diseased stranger sticking his prick into you? Not on _my_ watch, Sherlock.” Sherlock found his mouth being roughly kissed. “You want some stranger to suck your cock?” Sherlock gasped and arched his back as John plunged his hand into the front of Sherlock’s trousers, fondling him roughly. “No. That’s not happening.”

Sherlock almost closed his eyes when John knelt in front of him. It was every dream he’d ever had. John Watson was on his knees in front of him, devouring his cock like he’d never had anything finer, “John.” Sherlock’s hands were on John’s head. He was so hard that he was dizzy. They’d attracted a crowd, a group of men gravitating toward them, pulling on their own cocks as they watched John suck his. Sherlock felt himself swell a bit, “So good, John, just like that.”

John didn’t seem to care about the crowd. He played with Sherlock’s testicles, and even managed to toy with Sherlock’s anus. Sherlock wondered where John had learned to suck because he was amazing. Opening his eyes, Sherlock glanced around. Everyone’s gaze was fixated on John’s bobbing head. He groaned, “John.”

They hadn’t used a condom. Many men didn’t, not in these places, not even despite the risks. Sherlock tried to push John’s face off his cock but the doctor resisted, opening his eyes and looking right up into Sherlock’s face. He came. He felt his cock twitch and jump as he orgasmed, his penis delivering his load into someone for the first time. John sputtered a bit but swallowed all. Licking Sherlock until he was clean, John tucked him away before standing up. Still ignoring the hopeful crowd behind them, John took Sherlock’s hand before whispering in his ear, “Let’s go home, Sherlock. I’m going to make sure you never need to come to someplace like this ever again.”

“I want to fuck you, John Watson. I want you to be mine, just mine.”

“Oh, god yes.” With a happy smile, and ignoring his own erection, John took Sherlock back to Baker Street to work out the details of the new phase of their friendship. Sherlock smiled to himself. _He_ _’_ _d get John to wank in front of him. After all, he did like to watch_.


End file.
